


One More Day

by Kaminwh



Category: ONF (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Falling In Love, Fate, Fixation, Hyojin is mentionned like three times, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Injuries, Mentions of hospitals, Semi-graphic violence, ballet!changyoon, mafia?seungjun, mentions of gun, mentions of killing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28012479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaminwh/pseuds/Kaminwh
Summary: “Do you like it?”“What?”“Ballet. Dancing.”The question made him freeze, almost scared of the words that such an odd person had asked. The answer was easy though, it had barely ever changed in his life, always the same chorus that followed him through the years. He could lie. It would be easy.orChangyoon is a dancer and Seungjun is a bad boy
Relationships: Lee Changyoon | E-Tion/Lee Seungjun | J-Us
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	One More Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hello? This might not be the kind of fic you are expecting so please read the tags carefully! I hope you will enjoy it despite it being pretty... special? Dense? Anyway, have fun :]

"Changyoon?"

There was nothing.

The emptiness of his feelings had always made him feel _great_ , almost as if it was never in the sky and the stars that his joy had been hidden, but within a deep pit, one that he and only he could fall into. It was a secluded place, one that only existed when he was dancing. When his feet were moving by themselves, alongside a melody he knew by heart but internally knew he hated, when there was nothing but him and the air he was moving into.

Dancing had been his way of flying, at first. He had gotten drunk on it, to the point that he felt like he had finally reached the sky, grasping what he had been breathing for for all of these years. He had known it was dangerous, that it never was an angel who had guided him towards this direction; this feeling of greatness he felt only under the spotlight, his heart beating faster with every breath he stole from the public.

He had known this.

The sky was poisonous. Making him tipsy with these unhealthy feelings, and the more he was hypnotized by it, the more he wanted and got it.

Changyoon always got what he wanted.

 _You were born for it_ , they said. And he knew it was true. That everything in his life had led him to this, to the sky and his fixation with flying.

Dancing had been his wings when he was at his greatest. But Icarus' story never ends well.

" _Changyoon!_ "

"Yes?"

The ballet dancer stopped his stretching, turning towards his professor.

"Stop spacing out like that, would you?" she sighed, her old and tired traits draining the beauty from her face week after week. "You missed our last practice and that was the day I asked everyone who was going to audition for our next ballet."

"I know," he answered.

"Are you going to participate?"

"I told Hyojin to tell you I am aiming for the main role." His answer was dry, knowing well why the lady's eyes were now filled with pity.

"Alright. Auditions are three weeks from now, enough time for you all to start learning the major parts of the choreography I will judge you on."

Changyoon nodded. "Fine, I'll make sure to be ready."

And he would be. He knew it. The sky knew it.

After finishing his stretching he went to change and finally headed out of the large, ancient building. The night had already embraced the world as he greeted his friends one last time. They were already going back home.

 _Friends?_ Nevermind.

Now that the sky didn't want him anymore, he had to find his own way to get back to his past position. To those feelings, to the emptiness he craved.

It had been two years already.

He could feel himself getting nearer with each attempt, but every time he was within its reach, he would remember the sky’s cruelty. It scared him; that place almost took everything from him. His body didn't want it anymore while his soul still yearned for it. That's how he found the pit, the first time.

He wasn't flying any longer. He was dancing, better than he ever had, but something was missing. And he was scared, he had been for two years now. Scared that he wouldn't find it again or replace it, scared that he was condemned to being a simple ballet dancer, dancing like a machine, looking for a heart it never had anyway.

He wasn't like _that_.

He had been for two years.

Changyoon walked towards his bus stop, the streetlights shedding their dirty yellow glow on his path. The stop was almost directly in front of the auditorium, he just had to cross the street and walk a few paces to the left to get there. This part of the city was almost always empty of life; he had never seen it crowded. It held a special mood, as if only the chosen ones had the right to walk on the pavement, the whole country's hopes on their shoulders.

It was toxic. The sky had poisoned everything without anyone noticing.

When he got there, a stranger was sitting on the little bench under the protective structure.

He chose to not sit, but their eyes met and Changyoon glanced away immediately.

It was a boy, seemingly from around his age, with black hair and a deep red streak dyed around his left ear.

Half of Changyoon wasn't comfortable with his presence while the other was pushing him towards an unhealthy curiosity he should be ashamed of. It was evident that the boy was out of place here.

Changyoon noticed the other was playing with a lighter on his second glance, making it give an annoying _tic_ repetitively as he opened and closed it in a practised loop. He hated it, of course, but he definitely wasn't bold enough to say anything. He would leave in a few minutes, anyway.

When the bus came, Changyoon clambered on and could sense a stare following him inside.

Their eyes met one last time as the bus pulled away, the intruder staying outside, alone.

Changyoon felt jealous of him; he who had never been infected.

"That was perfect, Changyoon."

He knew it.

Everyone knew it.

But it wasn't _enough_. It hadn't made him reach it, and the praises would never replace it.

"Why don't you ever look satisfied with yourself?"

They were in the changing room, gathering up their things after the last practice of the week.

"Should I be?"

"Don't tell me it's the only way to improve or whatever, we both know that's stupid."

Changyoon closed his locker and turned to Hyojin, raising an eyebrow.

"That's not the reason."

"You’ll regret it."

His jaw tightened, bitterness flooding his tongue.

"It's easy for you to say that," he spat.

Hyojin rolled his eyes, "You're even better than before!"

"So are you."

Changyoon had nothing against his _friend_. If there was something to hate, it was himself and fate.

He left without a word or regret, walking quickly and passing in front of practice rooms still filled with people that _didn't know_. He only felt pity for them.

He finally reached the outside, walking down the few stone stairs that led to the main entrance. He didn't stop until his steps carried him to his bench. He already knew that the boy from the last time was there, he had seen him from across the street.

It was raining.

Changyoon never bothered to bring an umbrella (he didn't have far to walk to get to the cursed place he was meant to love), and he was stuck with no way to protect himself from the rain besides going near the bench.

He still didn't sit down, but he couldn't stop his glare. The boy wore a black hoodie, the hood pulled up to hide the strange red stain of hair Changyoon had noticed the last time.

"What are you staring at?"

The stranger still hadn't moved. Yet his eyes were now looking straight at him, as strong as lavender's scent. His voice was higher than what Changyoon had expected.

"Sorry," Changyoon simply said, not wanting a problem because of his stupid curiosity.

The other's eyes went back to staring absently at the space in front of him, an amused smile forming on his lips.

"Don't be."

Changyoon allowed himself to stare a few more seconds before trying to entertain himself as he could, extending his hand to let the droplets die on his skin.

He always had liked the rain, from when he was a kid breaking the rules to play under the crying sky in the garden, always ending up getting punished because of the mud on his neat little clothes, to the first time he had danced under it, each droplet adding magnificence to his performance.

That was a long time ago.

When the bus finally came, he glanced at the other boy who still hadn’t moved, his elbows resting on his thighs, hands joined together loosely.

He never caved in, never returned Changyoon’s gaze.

"I'm going to practice alone a bit more, you can head back without me."

There were days when nothing was enough.

Changyoon had sat down next to the mirror wall, dripping in sweat after a few hours of practice by himself. His reflection looked exhausted, with deep black holes for eyes and ugly skin, nearly translucent. 

He ignored it.

The dancer had already memorized the choreography for his audition and was now working on perfecting it, again and again and again. The problem was that he had no limits, and his frustration pushed him to get back on his feet and turn on the same chain of notes his feet were tied to. 

The mirror had been his biggest fear for so many months that he was still resentful of it, not trusting the reality it was showing him—a reality that he had been trying to dodge for so long now that accepting it would do more harm than closing his eyes and hiding in the comfortable bubble he had created.

Today, he wondered if the man in his reflection was dead. 

Changyoon finally found the courage to leave the building. The corridor was dark, making him realize how late it was. 

When he sat on the bench, he let his gaze get lost in the black sky. The moon couldn’t be seen from his position and it felt like someone tasteless had painted the stars.

“What’s inside your bag?”

Changyoon straightened his back before turning to face the stranger. He was wearing the same clothes as the last time, only his hair wasn’t covered as it fell in front of the same overwhelming eyes, staring right into the dancer’s with a curious spark in them.

“My dance outfit,” he shrugged.

“Dance? You’re a dancer?”

“I’m a professional ballet dancer.” Changyoon looked away, feeling suddenly too aware of the atmosphere’s pressure.

“Ballet? You’re the first I’ve ever met.”

Changyoon couldn’t help but feel thankful no judgement was involved in the other’s reply. He was used to people being surprised and asking intrusive questions, and it was definitely not what he needed tonight.

“Can I be honest with you?” The other asked after a few minutes of neutral silence.

“Yeah, go on.”

“You look like a ballet dancer.”

Changyoon furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and stared back at the other. The boy quickly looked at him from head to toe before smiling, showing some mischief in his demeanour. 

Changyoon snorted, “You sure don't look like one.”

He was very conscious that his styling and fashion senses suited the “little rich boy that lives with a cultural job” stereotype, but he definitely wasn’t the only one wearing cliche here—or at least he hoped so.

The stranger didn’t react to the comment, and Changyoon understood that this boy knew what he was doing perfectly. He had _control_.

“Do you like it?”

“What?”

“Ballet. Dancing.”

The question made him freeze, almost scared of the words that such an odd person had asked. The answer was easy though, it had barely ever changed in his life, always the same chorus that followed him through the years. He could lie. It would be easy. 

“No,” was his answer.

There wasn’t any trace of surprise on the other’s face, as if the question had always been rhetorical. 

“Are you happy right now?”

It was a cryptic state, being asked about his life by a stranger.

“No.”

His answers were always negative, always against the world and his life, always against the breathing sounds that resonated when he was dancing.

“What about you?” he finally dared to ask, feeling a bit exposed suddenly.

Was it the first time he had said these words to someone? Maybe; no one cared about his answer, usually. 

“Me? I am not.”

The wind came to caress the leaves of the tree next to the bus stop. Changyoon thought the bus would never come and for one second, he imagined a world where only the two of them existed. It made him smile.

“Then, why are you alive?”

“I’m too scared to die.”

It definitely wasn’t the kind of answer Changyoon had expected from someone like him. He simply nodded, feeling like he had to respect his thoughts, almost like it was something sacred. 

“What about you?”

Changyoon took his time to answer. All of this, he knew how to answer by heart. But there was this one foreign part of him that was always asking for lies, masks and beautiful smiles.

“I have too much hope in finding my happiness again.”

The other hummed, maybe in understanding or maybe in pity. Both seemed right.

“We’re quite similar, aren’t we.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know you.”

Changyoon suddenly stood up, one of the last buses of the night showing up farther down the street. 

“I’m Seungjun.”

He turned back the moment he was about to enter the bus, Seungjun now putting his hood on, watching him with no emotion on his face.

“I’m Changyoon.”

Seungjun was waiting. He always had been, his entire life. He was waiting for life to walk by, for a turn of events, for it to surprise him.

It almost never did.

He was a spectator, the one observing first, never taking part in the effervescence of the day and always hiding in the shadows of the moon. 

Seungjun never complained about it. About his loneliness, about the path he had chosen and that he was walking on. 

It wasn’t boring, it was as if he were _outside_ of this world; whatever he did never led to any consequences. There was something satisfying about it, and sometimes he felt like he was superior to other mortals, watching them live with a grin, unable to understand what being alive was like anyway. He didn’t remember if it was the world who had first not wanted him anymore, or if he had been the one who stepped outside its never-ending orbit. 

That was just a detail.

Seungjun had never cared about _feeling_. He didn’t remember what it was like, was so used to living with this mask on to the point that it had merged with his skin. His only goal was to have control, and he always did. Keep the control, play with it, and go back to sleep.

He was the spectator of the shadows, ready to dive on his prey.

He was death. 

“ _You did a good job today_ ,” had always made him laugh. He didn’t really know if people were telling him that with irony or if they were serious, but he couldn’t help but despise them. Those who needed him, those who became dependent on his skills, his dangerous half-breathing self.

Playing with death wasn’t enjoyable, but he had no other choice. He had never had choices in the first place. He was just waiting, and Fate brought him to where he was, using him as a toy to laugh at when it was bored.

When he was given an assignment, he liked to imagine it with the face of Fate. It made things easier, it stopped the shakings of his heart, and sometimes it made him grin. He knew it was always the opposite, that imagining it wouldn’t change the fact that he was the puppet of his biggest enemy, that the blood was clear proof of his lying mind.

This time too, he smiled before shooting.

Seungjun was waiting. 

After so many days, he felt like he knew this place better than any other. Each pavement was inscribed on his mind, he could remember each face or car that had gone past him more than twice. No one ever saw him, no one ever cared for him, and it was better that way.

No one but a single person.

Not that it mattered anyway, it wasn’t the first time someone had gotten curious about him. Seungjun wasn’t the type to be fully isolated from the living world, he was just walking slightly to the side, away from everyone else. But it was enough, most of the time.

So he had played with it, at first. When Changyoon had looked at him like he had guessed that he was an intruder in this world. He didn’t want to scare the poor boy; and he himself had somehow grown curious about the other, wondering how someone could emit such contradictory feelings. 

Today, too, Changyoon had sat beside him. Seungjun had turned his gaze towards the boy, examining the other’s features to understand what kind of situation it was and how to react. His job had indeed taken over his daily habits and reactions with normal human beings.

“Did something happen?” he tried, understanding that the other was definitely not in his usual state. “You’re here earlier than usual,” he justified himself, not wanting to give away too much of what he could guess just by observing the other’s features.

“They didn’t choose me,” Changyoon sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Seungjun didn’t ask for more, not wanting to intrude if the dancer wasn’t ready to talk. 

“We had an audition, and I didn’t get the main role.”

Seungjun blinked slowly, letting the information float for a few seconds in his mind.

“There will be other times,” he supposed, knowing well that it was a dumb thing to say but never having to comfort someone before in his life.

Feelings were definitely not his thing, might it be his or others’. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Changyoon retorted, apparently more irritated than sad. “They just don't want me to dance anymore, they just- they’re scared.”

Seungjun raised an eyebrow, quite surprised by this explanation. Fear was often a good motive, but he had no idea it had such an important place in something as subtle as ballet.

“Scared of you?” Seungjun didn’t flinch at the hope he discovered in his voice.

“No, of what could happen.”

The silence wasn’t as comfortable as it usually was when Seungjun was with Changyoon. There was something wrong, something sticky in the atmosphere that made him oversensitive. 

“I got injured, two years ago. More than two years ago, actually.”

Seungjun’s mind tried to process why Changyoon had said that out of nowhere, as if it had been the reason.

“They’re scared that it’ll happen again, when it won’t. It’s been years already and they can’t- they can’t _fucking_ trust me when I’m the best dancer there. There were no reasons for not choosing me, and they all know it.”

“That seems unfair,” said Seungjun without much thought.

“It is, it always has been.”

He nodded silently, understanding that the change in the atmosphere was due to hatred. A black, deep, and growing hatred that had been spreading in secret.

“What will you do now?”

Seungjun didn’t know why he was getting invested in this boy’s life. It was weird for him to interact this much with anyone, but there was something exciting about getting closer to him, about learning more of the world through the dancer’s eyes and feelings. 

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll just continue dancing, make them regret their choice.”

Seungjun grinned at the words.

“I’m sure they will,” and he truly was sure of it, as if he had the ability to see the future in a flash, and faces he didn’t know were showing bitterness. 

When Changyoon’s bus came, Seungjun hid his disappointment with his usual neutral face, watching the dancer stand up and step aside, slipping further into the world Seungjun couldn't reach.

Changyoon turned back when he was about to enter, eyes that were made for hate looking right at Seungjun.

“Come with me.”

Seungjun was woken by his phone notifying him that he had to go to work. He rolled out of bed, went to dress quickly and gather his things.

“What are you doing?”

He stopped after just having pulled his shirt over his head, turning to face a half-asleep Changyoon, still in his bed.

“Sorry, I have to go to work,” he said dumbly, showing him his phone in a lazy movement.

Changyoon didn’t answer, looking at him like he was searching for something.

“I can come back after, if you want,” Seungjun suggested absently.

He only got a _hmm_ in response but that was enough to know. Carefully, he went by the other's side and deposited a soft kiss on his forehead. He turned and left, jogging down the few stairs that lead to Changyoon’s apartment. He didn’t allow himself to think about what happened— _what was happening_. 

The chill of the night woke up his senses and he pulled on his hoodie before merging into the shadows that were ready to welcome him again. When he got to his destination, he knocked loudly on the door a few times, concentrating on any sound that could help him understand where his target was. 

He stepped on his cigarette.

It didn’t take long for the door to open, and Seungjun put his foot between it and its frame, blocking it from closing completely.

There was fear in the other man’s eyes. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m not here to kill you,” he explained calmly, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. 

“You are-” the man’s face was now as white as the shining moon. 

Seungjun didn’t grace him the time to finish his sentence, entering the house and closing the door behind him.

The first thought he had after working was Changyoon. He had to go back to him. The sun was already slowly rising, showering the world in pastel colors; he had to leave it soon. 

He first decided to go back to his own apartment, to the ghost-like room he only showed up to from time to time. He didn’t bother turning on the lights, focusing on taking a few useful things with him, showering and covering the few bruises that appeared on his creamy skin, hiding them with makeup if it was necessary. 

His reflection wasn’t smiling, watching him with a judgemental look that should have stopped Seungjun.

He knew that expression well enough.

Making the right choices wasn't why he was still alive in the first place. 

What could go wrong? Everything.

What did he have to lose? For now, not a lot.

For now. 

When Seungjun showed up to Changyoon’s apartment after having left it only a few hours prior, he was met with jaded eyes. The dancer leaned against the door frame, his arms crossing over his chest. Seungjun only blinked in confusion, not really knowing what his attitude could mean.

“Good morning,” he tried simply and his heart was eased when Changyoon silently laughed at him.

“Seungjun?”

“Yeah?”

“Your nose is bleeding.”

The boy touched his face in surprise, looking at his hand, painted with the color that had accompanied his life for a long time.

“Again?” he grumbled as Changyoon let him enter the apartment, trying to stop the bleeding with his hand pressed against his nose.

A stupid kick he hadn’t seen come earlier. It hadn't hurt, and the flood had stopped. So he had thought. 

“Sit on the couch,” the other ordered from another room.

Seungjun did as he was told, the blood censoring all of his senses at the same time. He neither liked nor hated blood; it was just an old friend that came back to greet him from time to time. 

“I’m flattered that you react like that when you see me,” Changyoon teased as he came back and squatted in front of Seungjun.

“Shut up,” he chuckled before taking the humid tissue that the other was handing him.

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence Seungjun chose to ignore (it was definitely judging him), Changyoon stood up and messed with the younger’s hair, surprising him.

“Did you eat? I bet not. I cooked you something earlier. I hope you’re not a picky eater,” he smiled, leaving the living room for the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Seungjun managed to say, his mind buzzing because of the luminosity of the room.

Changyoon’s apartment was large. Seungjun had never entered such a luxurious building before, but he wasn’t really surprised by it. It reminded him of his own apartment, the mood of both places quite similar: rooms empty of life and too much—too much light, too much white, too many pricey unuseful things, things meant to inject some life into the space yet did the opposite.

“Feeling at home” had always been a negative thing, anyway.

Changyoon came back with a plate of food, setting it on the little table in between the TV and where Seungjun was seated. 

“How do you feel?” he asked, concern showing on his face.

It was disruptive. 

“It’s okay, don’t worry. I’ve had nosebleeds since I was a kid,” he explained, his words playing dangerously between truth and lies. 

Changyoon nodded and took Seungjun’s wrist in his hand as he checked his face. Seungjun focused on that simple touch, that simple show of affection ( _was it?_ ), that little gesture and the warmth emanating from it, how soft Changyoon’s skin felt during those few seconds. But his eyes were overwhelming, too much, too near, too black, and despite focusing as much as he could on the touch, his breath got stolen, and he didn’t care.

Changyoon kissed him. 

It was too short, but the other’s lips were always a thing Seungjun wouldn’t complain about. 

The older smiled at him, his eyes disappearing to form little crescents. 

“Eat!” he said before leaving again.

Seungjun obeyed, setting the soiled tissue on the table and taking the plate. He ate without focusing on much, only the buzzing sound keeping him company.

“Will you dance today?” he asked, turning around to look at Changyoon.

The boy had sat at the dinner table, his computer turned on and specs on his nose. 

“Hmm, yeah, I have nothing to do but that anyway.”

Changyoon stared at him for a second, and Seungjun suddenly felt aware of his frozen fingertips. 

“Do you want to come?”

“Why not,” their eyes met, “I have nothing to do, either.”

“Alright. If you want to shower or anything like that, feel free.”

“Thank you,” Seungjun said as he stood up. Though, he only walked to stand beside Changyoon, observing the other’s smooth features for a few seconds.

“Hmm?” Changyoon blinked, apparently confused.

“It was tasty,” he said with a little smile, making Changyoon laugh softly.

“Thank you, I guess. You want to sit? Go ahead,” he gestured to the nearest chair on his left.

Seungjun sat down, putting his chin on his hand and looking at Changyoon who went back to focusing on whatever he was doing.

“ _He’s pretty,_ ” he thought. 

Changyoon’s short black hair was styled nicely and for once he wasn’t wearing a hat to hide it. His shirt was pink, and Seungjun guessed it was from some pricey brand he didn’t know the name of. His lips quirked softly when he noticed the pink touches on the man’s cheeks, going along perfectly with his overall look.

Seungjun thought this scenery felt like a dream, but he understood that it was more specific than that; it was like a scene coming from another age, one that no one never knew about beside the rain and light. 

“Stop staring,” the older said in a flustered tone, finally making Seungjun blink. 

“I don’t want to,” he replied with his usual neutral voice.

“You’re annoying,” Changyoon complained, not arguing more.

Seungjun had thought that it would be interesting to discover the world through that dancer’s eyes, at first. That it would satisfy his curiosity, for the short time that they would speak and exchange a few words every week. It was stupid; wanting to know about something he could never be a part of anyway, a wasteful desire that he shouldn’t have allowed himself to have. 

But this turn of events had been one he hadn’t been able to predict, and despite the fact that it should have scared him, it did the opposite. It wasn’t the world that he had discovered by getting closer to Changyoon.

It was Changyoon’s world. A world way too similar to what he had already known to make him feel uncomfortable, way too easy to apprehend to feel the instinctive fear that should have warned him. And then there was Changyoon.

 _That_ Seungjun was still searching for an answer to: how the boy was allowed to live in the world when he himself wasn’t, how the boy was still alive despite the death scent on his breath, how his eyes could hide more hate than Seungjun’s. 

It didn’t make sense.

It was mesmerizing. 

“Hey, Seungjun?”

“Yeah?”

“What are we?”

“You’re Changyoon and I’m Seungjun.”

“... Sounds nice.”

Changyoon was dancing.

It wasn’t beautiful, wasn’t breathtaking, he wasn’t the same person anymore.

Seungjun had become scared, at some point. Of this stranger that had taken the place of the man he knew. It wasn’t supposed to be alarming, yet it was abnormal that the world should have expelled him, but was apparently pleased with his performance and had decided not to.

Seungjun wasn’t jealous. How could he be?

There was something violent about Changyoon’s movements. He didn’t know if it was related to his hatred, but they were almost made for the spectators to pity him, to feel nothing but emotions similar to sadness.

Seungjun decided he didn’t like it.

“How was it?” the dancer asked as he squatted near Seungjun, searching in his bag for water.

“I don’t know, I have nothing to compare it with. It’s my first time seeing someone dance ballet.”

Changyoon hummed and took the time to drink before his next sentence.

“Then just know that it’s probably the best you’ll see in your life.”

“Should I feel privileged?”

Changyoon laughed, “You should be thankful, no?”

Seungjun stared at him while raising an eyebrow.

“You’re the one who asked me to come.”

“I didn’t ask! I proposed it to you.”

“What’s the difference?”

Changyoon went silent for a second before rolling his eyes.

“The difference is that I asked for your opinion.”

The dancer stood up, already stretching his body.

“You want to try?”

Seungjun pointed at himself in disbelief.

“Yeah, you, who else?”

“I’m not a dancer.”

"I wasn't one when I started either. Come on!"

"No."

"You're not funny."

"I don't mean to be." 

Changyoon blew raspberries like a kid before replaying the same song again.

It was a never-ending chorus, a curse that had trapped him and made him prisoner of the awful notes.

This world was a scary one.

"We should go buy you some clothes."

"Clothes? But I have a few with me."

"A few, exactly. Three tee-shirts and two pairs of pants. If you don't come with me, I'll buy things in my own taste and force you to wear them."

Seungjun giggled, "Oh god, how scary, I should hurry and get my wallet."

Changyoon ignored the sarcasm and he gave a satisfied smile seeing Seungjun really going to get his things.

"Consider this a date, if you don't like shopping," he said as the other boy came back into the living room.

"What would that change?" Seungjun answered, taking the hand Changyoon was offering to him.

"It's cuter. Not for the purpose of buying things but for the purpose of spending time with me."

"It's a lie, though."

Changyoon hit him on the arm and he feigned his pain, whining like a kid.

"Shut up, let's go."

Seungjun didn't like or dislike the windows to the world Changyoon showed him from time to time. It was just weird.

It wasn't something he could imagine himself growing accustomed to. It wasn't something he could say no to Changyoon for either, so he just went with it. 

At least he wasn't alone.

Neither he nor Changyoon enjoyed showing affection in public; if one of them did it was always in secret, in a murmur when the wind passed by and the stares of the living were fooled by something else. It was better like this. Less scary.

"Why do you only buy black things?"

"I can only wear those for my job."

"Do you only wear clothes because of that job? Come on, at least buy one or two things for when you're at home."

"Black suits me."

"Of course it does, but how should I know if it suits you the _best_ when you only wear that?"

"Just go with it," Seungjun retorted carelessly. 

"What about my performance? Will you only wear that kind of thing when you come to watch me?"

Seungjun stopped for a second, his eyes lost in his thoughts.

"I have no idea what kind of clothes people wear to watch ballet."

"Do you trust me?"

Seungjun lazily scrutinized the dancer from head to toe, as if a silent and wistful deja-vu had come back to haunt the scene.

"No," he finally stated, Changyoon's face becoming offended immediately.

"You didn't have to answer me anyway, I'll take care of it."

Seungjun smiled amusedly as he followed Changyoon around. He was similar to a lost puppy in this unknown universe, and had no choice but to stick with the little part of his soul that time had decided to steal from him.

Changyoon extended his hand, his fingers slowly coming nearer to Seungjun's cheek before delicately landing on the bruised skin. Seungjun didn’t dare to breathe. Didn’t dare to look away from the emotionless face that was in front of him.

Changyoon looked up and their eyes met.

They were sitting at a cafe, one with far too many people and far too many noises. It was crowded, far too luminous, and the smell of vanilla could have made him puke.

"It's ugly," Changyoon said as his fingers returned to his lap.

"You can touch it, it doesn't hurt," Seungjun chose to say.

“Stop getting hurt. I hate it.”

“I wish I could,” Seungjun answered before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Why can’t you?” Changyoon’s voice was unsure, his mouth closed in a petulant pout to hide his fear.

“You want me to quit my job?”

Changyoon nodded.

Seungjun sighed.

“There is something I would like to do.”

Seungjun rolled his eyes in annoyance, “Can’t you say it _after?_ That kiss was nice.”

“Sorry, it just crossed my mind. I was afraid I would forget.”

Seungjun sighed in amusement before tilting his head slightly to encourage Changyoon to continue.

“I would like you to show me a place you like. For a date. I already showed you mine, I want to see yours.”

Seungjun crossed his legs on the couch and let his head fall onto the back of it, his eyes now lost on the white ceiling. Changyoon had learned to give him the time to think, to answer with whatever lie he wanted to come up with. 

The lies could become the truth. The secret was simply to believe it. And Changyoon was scarily becoming better and better at it.

“I don’t have such a place.”

“But you at least have your apartment-”

“I hate it,” Seungjun was sitting normally once again, looking at Changyoon with the same beautiful emotionless face, “The only thing I can think of is here, or the bench.”

Changyoon couldn’t stop his laugh, at how stupid it sounded and how happy these few words were making him.

“Should we go on a date at the bench then?”

“Shut up,” Seungjun grinned before kissing him again.  
  
  


“You have a meeting for work today, right?”

Seungjun hummed in agreement from the couch. Changyoon finished buttoning his immaculate shirt before joining his partner in the living room, standing behind Seungjun as he texted someone as he did from time to time.

“My parents want to see me tonight. I don’t know who will come back first so-”

“It’s okay, I can go to sleep at my place for once. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll text you when I’m back, just in case I’m done first, alright?”

Seungjun made an “ok” with his fingers and Changyoon finally let himself fall beside his lover. He was already exhausted when he wasn’t even in front of his family.

“Shouldn’t you go? You’ll be late.”

“I don’t care,” he replied as his head went to find peace on Seungjun’s shoulder.

“Why do they want to see you?”

“I keep finding excuses to avoid dining with them, but my father is starting to get annoyed.”

“So you’re annoying them more by being late.”

“You’re smart,” Changyoon stated in a whisper.

Seungjun’s hand came to gently stroke the dancer’s hair, making sure to not mess up the haircut he had taken so much time to style. 

“Hang in there a bit longer, it won’t last long and then you’ll be back here.”

Changyoon sighed, trying to believe these words without having the strength to.

“I’ll get going then,” he stood up in defeat.

“Okay, take care.”

“You’re the one who has to take care. Don’t get hurt or I’ll kill you for real.”

Seungjun’s eyes left his phone and he smiled, the same tired smile he was only just able to produce.

“As if you could.”

Changyoon shivered under his stare. He knew what it reminded him of. He had known for quite a while now, how similar to the pit it was. How _linked_ to the pit it was.

“Changyoon, it’s so good to see you.”

It wasn’t.

“Hello, Mom, sorry for being late.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Come, dinner is ready and your father is waiting for you.”

Changyoon had forgotten how this house made him uncomfortable, how his memories were bland, uncolored, neutral. He never felt wistful or nostalgic coming into the mansion he learnt to consider as his _parents’_ home. He would have prefered going to a restaurant, even if it meant a fancy one, a place he would never dare go with Seungjun out of fear of scaring him. It was hollow. Empty feelings filled with pricey items that were hidden weapons of mass destruction. If there was one thing Changyoon would allow himself to pity, it was this. These smiles. 

“Hello, Father,” he greeted before sitting down, facing the two people that raised him. 

The ones that were responsible.

“Your sister couldn’t come, sadly,” the woman said, her face forlorn, and Changyoon held back his snort.

He didn’t even bother to answer with anything, he had long ago given up the acting he had once tried to perform at the beginning. 

“So, how are things going? Are your practices going well?”

“Yeah.”

He never told them, never shared any part of his life with them, but it was always like this: them intruding, them thinking it was their right to know, them coming to his performances when he never invited them in the first place. He always wondered when they would break down, when they would stop acting, too. 

But they couldn’t. And he knew why. Because he was the same.

“What about your love life? Are you dating someone? A pretty girl—or a… boy?”

Changyoon imagined himself presenting Seungjun to them. How beautiful it would be, to see their confused and offended faces at what Changyoon’s heart had decided to love. Maybe that would be it, what would make their masks fall off. But he didn’t want to, never in his life would he let their eyes land on him, never would he let them breathe the same air as him, never in their existence would they know about his. 

Seungjun was the only secret he had left. His Pandora’s box that he kept with no will of opening, despite the great pleasure it could offer him.

“You should find someone quickly and get married.”

Always the same scared words, hurrying him to get a life, get kids, get something that they forgot to teach him during the times he would listen to them religiously. The only thing he was living for was dancing, it was the beginning and the end. And despite hating them, Changyoon was stuck with the one and only thing they had taught him, his beautiful damnation that he embraced with a smile. 

He wasn’t grateful. But he had nothing else.

_It was amazing Changyoon, you truly are born for it._  
  
  


“Seungjun. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Seungjun closed the door behind him, stepping in front of the wooden desk that was the only shield preventing him from killing the older man in his leather chair.

“Maybe.”

The rule was to not let the silence grow too large, or it would dig out unsaid words, let the bars of the cage widen enough for him to see through but still not be able to get out.

“You did well, for your last mission.”

“I always do well.”

“You do, yes.”

“I want to quit.”

This one silence was meaningful; it screamed of death and the goal of it.

“I can’t let you quit, you know that. What would happen without you, hmm? Can you imagine that? You are way too important to me—to us.”

“I don’t care.”

“Of course you do. Who is protecting you? Do you think you’re still alive thanks to your skills? You aren’t stupid. You know well what the deal is.”

“If I quit, why would they want to kill me? Revenge would be useless.”

“They wouldn’t know you quit. But suddenly, a flaw. And they know where you live. Or should I say, where _he_ lives?”

This silence was of sorrows. Deep, bloody sorrows.

“Changyoon, right? Lee Changyoon. He’s cute, if I’m allowed to say. I’m happy for you. That’s the reason you want to quit, I guess.”

A sigh.

“Wouldn’t it be unfortunate if someone learns that you have a weak point—so easy to reach, as well? We already did what we had to to protect him. I promised you, right? I have to protect you, and now I will protect him too.”

Seungjun’s saliva tasted like rust.

“You can’t quit, Seungjun. I can’t let that happen. But I won’t let you down either. A deal is a deal, right?”

“What is my next mission?”

“I’m happy you ask. Here is the target. I can count on you, right?”

“Yes.”

Seungjun ignored the laughter of Fate echoing as he left.

“Seungjun?” Changyoon had opened his door, still drying his hair with a towel in one hand. 

The young man he found on the other side made a step forward and his forehead came to fall on Changyoon’s shoulder, making the older blink in confusion. 

He had time to see it: the scars, blood, and wounds. Ones that, for once, were not hidden by makeup or bandages. It was raw. It was what had always been obscured by fear, and Changyoon couldn’t understand what happened.

His hand slowly tried to comfort the boy, still processing what was happening. 

It was scary, somehow. That Seungjun had chosen to stop lying to him for once.

“Seungjun…”

“Hmm,” was the only tangible sound he managed to hear, and he slowly backed up, taking all the time in the world to not break Seungjun in his movement.

“Let’s clean your wounds, alright?” He took the damaged hand in his, inattentive to the blood that spread sticky onto his palm.

Seungjun didn’t react, his eyes were still lost in a place Changyoon would never be allowed to enter. Despite never having seen one in his life, Changyoon thought he looked like a dead person in this exact moment. 

Without waiting any longer, he guided his lover to the bathroom and made him sit down, glad that his back was now facing Seungjun so that the other couldn’t see his trembling hands as they searched for antiseptic and bandages. When Changyoon finally found the courage to face him, he squatted down onto the floor and Seungjun’s head fell on his shoulder once again. 

He thought he would start crying, at some point. But that would be assuming too much out of Seungjun.

“I’m sorry,” he heard after some time, enough time for his knees to start hurting.

“Don’t be,” he immediately answered, “Whatever it’s for, I don’t care.”

Seungjun moved slowly, and finally, his eyes found Changyoon’s. But he didn’t expect to witness so much grief in them, along with concern about _him_.

“Why don’t you care?” It wasn’t a reproach but a worry, his voice nearing a hopelessness that Changyoon’s heart disliked immediately.

He could have pity over him, but it put him in a state of alert instead. 

“Because,” his throat was dry, “I have to.”

“It doesn’t make sense…!” Seungjun shook his head, his voice becoming almost whiny and Changyoon felt guilty, even if he knew it wasn’t a feeling he should have.

“It does, though. It does to me.” 

Ignoring his beating heart, he started to take care of his bruised face, wiping the red from the snow and cleaning the skin that seemed to be made out of scars. He thought it would be enough, that it would be his alibi, that his crime was a perfect one and he couldn’t be caught anymore.

“Why don’t you ever ask questions?”

He ignored it.

“Changyoon.”

Seungjun caught his wrist, making him stop his movement, forcing the dancer to face the reality of his question. Of his own fear, his own anxiety that he had been so good at hiding. Of burying inside the pit, releasing it only when he was dancing to emphasize the emotions he had to feel. It could have been perfect, if Seungjun had never asked. He should have been glad for Changyoon’s disinterest, for his mouth that never questioned the wounds, the two phones, or the gun in his bag.

It could have been a happy ending.

“What do you think would happen, if I asked questions?”

There was no hint of amusement in his voice, just a pure gravity that highlighted the two paths this conversation could lead them down.

“I would tell you,” Seungjun whispered, his eyes suddenly changing, a light appearing in them for the first time, as if the boy had been born again.

“Exactly. And how do you think I would react?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know, Seungjun. I would leave.”

“You-” Changyoon’s hand came over Seungjun’s mouth, making his words stop. 

“I don’t want to leave you, Seungjun. So please, for the sake of god, please…”

There was fear in those black eyes that he wasn’t able to face anymore.

“Please, do not tell me. Ever.”

There were those times that were not times, but places. Places in the moment, places in the instant, places in the time. They were not exactly scenes, as it happened for minutes far too short, but they were too wide to be a simple snapshot.

They were at night, most of the time. 

With or without the stars, but when they were there, they felt almost intrusive, too near and too numerous to not see them as nuisance. It was better when the rain was singing. It was better when the world was asleep. 

It was them. Murmuring, dancing, breathing. It could be in a room or under the universe, but in all these places, they were together, and alone.

If there were voices or words, they would be ones of love; maybe too innocent or childish, but no one was there to notice it anyway. 

These places were ones of memories, the kinds of memories they confused with others as their bliss was always similar. It was places, slightly different each time, but ones that the soul couldn’t tell apart. 

There never was an exact moment they fell in love; it had been a specific place, and that’s how their love had grown, expressing itself in those out-of-time murmurs, dances, breaths. 

For them, places were locations with the purpose of fondness and devotion. 

“Changyoon, who’s that guy that sometimes waits for you after practice?”

“No one.”

“Are you dating him?”

“He’s just a friend.”

It wasn’t supposed to be a complicated mission; there was no mention of forbidden things and he would handle it easily. Scaring people wasn’t hard, usually. Especially when they already feared his name. The site wasn’t the best though. The containers were too big and even if they gave Seungjun the advantage of hiding him well, it gave him an equal disadvantage in tracking his targets. He counted five guys, neutralizing them wouldn’t be hard. He had the darkness on his side, anyway.

When he finally stepped out, moving quickly to the first man before taking him down in a few well placed punches, he knew what would happen. He knew their orders were for him to be stopped, and there was fear in the commanding voice. There always was.

Two of the other guys decided to charge him, and despite their impressive build, Seungjun knew he could handle them without much damage. The struggle lasted a few minutes before he understood something was wrong. That something he hadn’t expected was happening. When his eyes fell on the fourth guy’s gun, Fate laughed at him. He forgot how young he looked, how much fear there was in his trembling hands, how he could have been the one like this, in another world.

He shot instead.

When he turned to the last guy, his main target, the reason for his mistake, he knew he had won. He knew what he had done had been enough, he knew he didn’t have to soil his hands more than he already had. But he did. Out of rage, rage of his own failing, the disappointment over his own misery and the laugh that kept echoing in his head.

“ _I did it. But there was collateral damage._ ”

Seungjun was waiting. It was not the same kind of wait as usual; it was one with a goal, with an end, a temporary wait that made him feel the sting of impatience for the first time in his existence. 

But this time, Changyoon didn’t come. 

When the dancers of his group came down the few stairs in front of the entrance to the building Changyoon’s life was linked to, Seungjun decided to stop waiting.

He couldn’t.

"Excuse me…"

“Hmm? Oh, you’re Changyoon’s friend, right?”

“Where is he?”

“He was injured, Hyojin took him to the hospital.”

Their gazes made him want to puke, the pity and saddened looks they exchanged over Changyoon were ignorant. But Seungjun understood something thanks to their grins. He had proof that Changyoon had succeeded, that he had kept his word, as Seungjun had expected. 

He didn’t bother punching them, even if he knew Changyoon would have been delighted by it (and that was probably the reason why he did not).

The situation wasn’t just one to worry about; it was an urgence. And he was fucking scared, because it wasn’t one he _could_ have anticipated.

The future had always been clear, until the performance. He never cared to think about what would have happened after it; it wasn’t something important anyway, but he considered it as a breaking point somehow, for a confusing reason he couldn’t put words to. And now there was nothing left. It was almost like he was back in his past life in a breath, in the exact place the past had become the future. He knew Fate wasn’t laughing at him, but his mind was buzzing with the sound he knew by heart, like a requiem of the joy he had the audacity to feel.

Entering a hospital for the first time didn’t even move him. The entire building was supposed to despise him, but the fact that it didn’t make him feel even more angry, furious at how the world was now acting because it shouldn’t. It should have stayed the same as ever, or else Changyoon would hate it.

He had no idea what to do and when he asked for Changyoon, they questioned who he was and he lied. They asked him to wait, and that’s when he understood the absurdity of the situation.

The thought of killing them passed by, without stopping. 

He managed to sit down, at one point. His elbows on his lap, his fingers interlaced, the need of touching his lighter, the need of doing something other than what he was made for. 

There were those people, running by, screaming words, “ _he’s dying_ ” and the sight of a young man between life and death.

His phone buzzed after that fever dream.

“ _It’s ok, we’ll take care of it.”_

The sound of the ambulance finally stopped.

“You wanted to see Lee Changyoon, right?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me, please.”

Seungjun finally stood up, dizzy after being in this world for too long, dizzy from being parted away from the name he was looking for, his mind struggling to find the answer.

When the door opened, the first thing he noticed was a stranger with hair the color of blood, his eyes trembling as they fell on Seungjun. He had no idea what this man was scared of, but he was blocking the way to his prey. 

“I’m going, then.”

The moment he left, Seungjun sat down next to the bed, taking Changyoon’s hand in his. And when he finally found the courage to face him, to look at the reality in his eyes, he thought he would break down, as if he had been human. 

He wanted to say something, but nothing made sense. He wasn’t sorry, he knew how Changyoon was feeling, his control was betraying him and making him look like a fool.

“Thank you for coming,” and Seungjun hated his smile, wanted to erase it, would have preferred tears and despair.

Changyoon understood, somehow. The smile left and his pupils were slightly dilated, his hand squeezing Seungjun’s, as if he was expecting a certain reaction but wasn’t getting it.

“Is it serious?”

“Yeah, Seungjun. It’s always serious with me, always the same fucking joke-”

He kissed him, to make him shut up, and because it was too hard.

“Don’t look at me like you’re the one suffering, I hate it.”

“But it does hurt.”

Changyoon frowned, clearly trying to understand what Seungjun had just said and why his eyes were showing the same pain that was resonating in his voice.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying, Changyoon. I thought-” he breathed, “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of what you might become.”

Things became different. Changyoon couldn’t dance for an indeterminate time. His knee needed rest after an operation and despite the hours of rehabilitation, he wasn’t allowed to move it. It had some positive aspects; more moments spent together, Changyoon swearing at his own clumsiness with his new crutches, but there were sorrows.

Changyoon decided that his crutches were not of use when Seungjun was there and his lover would gladly help him, whatever it was for. They both appreciated when Seungjun would piggy-back the dancer to the nearest convenience store, never complaining despite the cold biting his bare feet, their laugh echoing in the empty street, lost forever in the night.

It seemed easy. But the fear never really went away.

When Seungjun opened the door, he expected to find Changyoon lost in his thoughts, maybe looking out the window at the silent world sleeping, no smile illuminating his delicate features.

That was exactly how he was.

Seungjun didn’t dare go nearer; it felt wrong, too rude to intrude into that place where feelings that weren’t his were slowly growing.

“What do you think will happen?” Changyoon’s voice was weak, deep in regret.

“I,” the words were hard to pronounce, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry,” a sigh,” It’s not your fault.”

“No. I’m sorry because I should know. I’m supposed to know but I don’t.”

Something went wrong, at this moment. It was different, the axis, the rotation, what Seungjun had been walking on during all these years. 

“Don’t cry…”

He didn’t understand these words, his gaze was too focused on the man in front of him. The man he wished to know, the man he could describe perfectly until the deepest secrets of his soul, that frightening face that he refused to think of as his sentence, the man he loved.

“I can’t even come to you so don’t cry, please…”

This time, Seungjun understood it as an order and stepped next to the bed, his head down as if he were a little boy waiting for his punishment.

Changyoon’s hand found its right place in his, bringing Seungjun back to the room where they were both alive.

“Stop trying to be the one suffering alone, Seungjun. You don’t have to take my pain. I will be fine.”

“Will you?” It was an ultimatum.

The silence was a bitter answer, one Seungjun would have liked to scream at. But he smiled, instead. A little, meaningful smile that briefly came across his usually neutral pretty face. 

“You should quit.”

“What?”

“Dancing. You’re over splendid for it. It doesn’t deserve you.”

“I can’t.”

“I know.”

Seungjun was able to find enough courage to raise his head, looking at the one he loved with distressed eyes. Changyoon seemed confused, as expected. He looked beautiful in his damnation. 

“I hate seeing you cry.”

“I hate so many parts of you.”

Changyoon was dumbfounded, blinking as he was searching for sarcasm or something that would make him sure it was a joke. Instead, he was met with a sincere and profound smile. One that he never knew Seungjun was able to show.

“I love you,” concluded Seungjun, turning this page of their story without letting Changyoon do anything to stop it when he knew he wanted to.  
  
  


Changyoon was going back to his apartment, the cold air stabbing at his bare hands, and he was trying to focus on not tripping in the middle of the street to avoid remembering that his dumb self had forgotten to bring a coat. It was always warm when he was on Seungjun’s back, so he hadn’t thought of what the world would be like without him. Seungjun was gifted with the power of making Changyoon drift, and he now understood why some people thought being in love made you become dumb. It doesn’t suddenly change your way of thinking, it makes you focus. Being able to see only a precise part of events led to clumsiness. It was something reassuring to find a way of blaming Seungjun for his current cold body. 

When he was near his building, his eyes fell on the distinctive hair that he had learned to love with time, and he couldn’t help but smile at the coincidence of his lover returning together with him.

“Seungjun!” he called, accelerating as he imagined the next scene.

But Seungjun didn’t answer after his eyes fell on Changyoon. His head turned slightly, looking at something else seemingly on the other side of the road. Changyoon didn’t have the time to react as Seungjun shouted “Leave!” before running past him, crossing the road as fast as he could. When Changyoon turned around in confusion, he could catch the shadows of a few guys trying to run away from Seungjun. It was obvious that it was a lost game. 

Changyoon hesitated, not knowing if he really should leave or wait for Seungjun to come back—it shouldn’t take him too long, anyway. But he decided to obey, not wanting to see his lover upset and arguing with him for the night.

It was a good way to stall the time needed to gather his thoughts and make sure he would forget everything he had just witnessed. 

He whistled going back to his apartment, anticipating finally feeling warm again.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?!”

_“Calm down, please. What happened?”_

“You told me you were going to protect him!”

_“My dear… We are doing our best. Protecting you was easy, since you were just going out for your missions. But he’s different, and now you are too. We are trying.”_

“You promised me.”

_“Grow up, Seungjun. What were you expecting? I don’t have superpowers. If you wanted him to be safe, you should have locked him up somewhere.”_

“If you fail, I will take you as responsible.”

_“I will see what more I can do. What happened to the guys? You killed them?”_

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

_“Alright, I’ll take care of that too. One last thing, Seungjun.”_

“Yeah?”

_“Love doesn’t suit you.”_

There was nothing. Not a single breath, not a single soul, only the cold wind to remind him that this wasn’t some weird dream. 

It had been a trap. And he had fallen for it. 

Seungjun returned in a hurry, running as fast as he could as he called Changyoon in hopes that he was just becoming paranoid, that his mind was just preparing him for the worst scenario. Despite the adrenaline, he found the time to hate himself.

Changyoon never answered.

The second call was picked up, and Seungjun had a flash of what would happen next to the man he had pity for for such a long time.

“No one was there!”

_“What are you saying?”_

“I’m saying that you failed.”

_“What-”_

“I’m quitting, it’s the end. And if- _something_ happens, I will find you and keep my promise.”

He didn’t wait for a response and threw the phone away, not minding it anymore. His body was moving way faster than his mind, reacting as a reflex, finding a way to keep the control despite his powerlessness.

He wasn’t panicking. He hated how easily he could imagine every possible outcome, and that most of them weren’t happy. He hated how he was prepared for this, somehow. How it had been obvious, how it was his fault, and that he knew it was coming from the beginning. He took a risk and was finally paying for it. It was everything falling into its right place again, the world reminding him where he was supposed to stand, and that making choices wasn’t what he was best at. 

It was a beautiful ending, one with bitter smiles and final words.

_For now._

Everything felt so slow, time was flowing by as usual and everything felt wrong, how the world was ending but no one cared, no one would ever care about whatever the real outcome would be. Seungjun should have regretted it. Blamed himself. Felt sorry. 

How could he?

When he finally reached Changyoon’s building, he didn’t stop, hurrying to get inside as fast as possible. When he found the door slightly opened, he knew his instinct had been right, and it was confirmed when he noticed the crutches on the floor. He knew what to do and what not to do, the gears of the morbid chorus he called his ‘skills’ making him step silently into the kitchen, grabbing a knife before finally allowing them to see him.

It didn’t take long for the first man to scream, calling for help in his last breath, fear similar to a kid scared of an unknown monster showing in his eyes. Two other men appeared from Changyoon’s bedroom.

Seungjun laughed. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered.

One of them tried to argue for his life; Seungjun killed him first.

The second tried to hurt him, but it only extended his life span of a few seconds. They seemingly weren’t here to hurt Changyoon, but the smell of chloroform was subtle enough for Seungjun to smile at Fate.

He didn’t hesitate to enter his lover’s bedroom and saw his body curled up against a wall, his beautiful face distorted by fear. Seungjun rushed into his arms, burying his nose in his neck, forgetting about the future and the past, his body trembling from the relief his soul was feeling.

Changyoon was holding him tightly, his tears filled with every emotion he must have felt for these long few minutes, and Seungjun remembered why he loved him, why he had screwed up his life for this moment, this place that had witnessed everything and knew what love was. 

It hurt him that his answer had changed. That his reason for being alive wasn’t the same anymore, that he had become even more of a coward.

When he took Changyoon’s face in his hands, his thumbs caressing his skin like it was the first time, he subconsciously tried to memorize everything, every cell, every variation of colour, every different sensation.

“Seungjun I’m so sorry…” Changyoon’s voice was broken, ugly and full of regret.

Seungjun smiled, trying to ease him, shaking his head silently to tell him—beg him to not be, to stop speaking and let him enjoy this last scene.

It was after their hopeless kiss that Changyoon pronounced the final words.

  
  
  


“I called the police.”

**Author's Note:**

> So... Congrats for reading this whole mess? I hope you enjoyed it! If you have any question, anything you are curious about don't hesitate to ask me! I crave for comments~
> 
> I once again want to thank my dear Abi (@onfults) for taking her time to correct this very long work, I don't deserve you <3


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